


Edited for Time

by dancinbutterfly



Category: The Hour
Genre: 1950s, BBC, Best Friends, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Kissing, Love, Sexual Content, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein it actually takes Freddie an extra five minutes to leave the dressing room after the "you are possible" speech in 2x06.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edited for Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiahelix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/gifts).



_“No, we don’t, we need to stop talking. We talk too much. Instead, we have to do something. I am tired of it not being possible, it is possible. You are possible. You are possible with me.”_

Bel almost lets that be it; lets Freddie leave with the last word, again, like the brilliant prat he is. She is a heartbeat away from letting him jump head first after Kiki deLane and Bel without even answering his kisses. Just like she let him jump off to the Americas and the unknown after the story broke with Clarence. This time, she is brave instead. She manages to move before he gets out the door.

It's only her hand, and she barely manages that, but she catches the very edge of his jacket. Her grip barely catches his suit and then slips through her fingers and for a horrible split second Bel thinks, ‘Well that's it then. Lost him again, haven't I?’ Then Freddie is facing her again and catching her up by the waist, turning them both so her back hits the door with a hard thump. The impact is jarring, shaking them both, though not enough to break the rhythm of their kisses.

"Don't have time," he says directly into her mouth like he can’t bear make his lips stop touching hers and perhaps he can't. She hopes he can't. She certainly can’t take it if he stops. "The interview."

"Ten minutes." She can do this in ten minutes. Hell she's done this exact thing in ten minutes. Several times if memory serves, with men she was far less attracted to than Freddie. She's already wet. It will take no time at all, really. She's sure.

"Don't have ten minutes," he says and he sounds sad, regretful, aching to stay but desperate to go. Bel understands because if you love the man you love the job and Bel loves both. She loves Freddie Lyon and she loves the bloody news. She wants that story. She wants to see Cilenti and Stern and the rest of those bastards shown for what they are, what they've done, and she wants the Hour to break this story under her leadership. She just wants to feel Freddie inside her first. 

It's not Freddie or the story. There's no choice with him, between the news and their love. It's merely prioritizing the order of things.

Her hands are working his trousers open even as she says, "I only need five."

He breathes out sharply. His hands move under her skirt, pushing it up and working to free her knickers from her suspenders. Leave the stockings on, just get the damn pants out of the way, she thinks and lifts her legs to accommodate him. First one leg, then the other which she leaves up at his hip.

He kisses her again on a harsh exhale and when the pants are finally off, he tosses them away and pushes inside her in one smooth glide. He bites his lip for a moment, then gasps, "Christ, Moneypenny, but you are magnificent"

She grins at him as finally, finally, oh god it's been so long, how long, too long, he's moving inside her. She chokes out a sound that starts as a moan but ends up a laugh as she tightens the fingers of her left hand in the hair at the nape of his neck and the right clenching the lapel of his jacket to hold herself steady. "And you, James," she breathes, "Do not disappoint."

He laughs too, his eyes screwed up with pure amusement. Then he's kissing her again. A second later he's fucking her into the door and yes, oh yes. Five minutes was really a generous overestimation of what her body could take from this man. Later, she thinks. Later she'll take long weekends of letting him pull her body apart and put it back together like he's already done with her mind and her heart. She'll do the same with the pale skin and shockingly resilient flesh beneath those white shirts. 

Now there's simply the two of them, writhing in near silence in the drab little dressing room across from the studio where they live out their real lives. He slides his thumb over a muscle in her neck and down where it vanishes beneath her blouse and she clings to his collar but neither of them yank at buttons or rip at cloth. 

The shock/slam/ache of Freddie filling her with every sharp roll of his narrow hips isn't everything. It never will be. Their worlds are far too big for anyone to ever be everything. This is better than everything because it's a beginning, and oh, god it is so beautiful. His thin, strong body is moving within hers so well, keeping time with the kind of non-verbal signals that she knows comes from living inside each others pockets for the last decades. She can see he's close too and that's good because they've only got- she tears her mouth from his so she can glance at the clock on the wall - two minutes. 

That's all right though. This breathless shag against a door is about getting a first sip of water water after years of wandering through a desert with the oasis just out of range. They can do better by each other but they're neither of them are perfect, are they? So, they'll have this little metaphorical amuse bouche for the feast that's going to be the rest of their lives if Bel has any say and, damnit she does. She has every say. At that moment he gives a particularly deep thrust and she says, "There, Freddie, there, there. Oh God," as it hits something deep inside and grinds against her all at once.

"You read them," he murmurs into her ear as his fingers join his cock in their attention to her. "The letters. You read them both. I knew you did." He bites gently behind her ear, nothing that would show, they're at work. "I understood. I understand. I'll always understand but you should fly with me now, Moneypenny." His whole body is working together against her, this clever boy who's become such a wonderful man. "Yes?"

"I- I want to. Always wanted- God, oh God, yes, Fre-" Freddie kisses her then and more's the better too because she'd have been screaming with pleasure if her mouth werent otherwise occupied. She doesn't make that much noise during sex most of the time but then, she's never been with Freddie before and if everything else is so different with him, why not that as well, she wonders as she trembles through the spasms of her orgasm. It’s so intense she misses Freddie's completely.

She knows he's come because he's slumped against her, his mouth moved to rest against her cheek and she's wet between her legs. She can feel as much as hear the deep breath he takes. "Yes, Bel," he agrees, rubbing his nose against her cheek like a contented cat. He pushes himself back to standing with both hands planted firmly on the door. 

It's nothing for him to clean himself off. He's smiling again, the news story lighting him aflame now that she's burnt out his other fire for the moment. He reaches out, wipes away a smudge in her lipstick, then gently pulls her forward away from the door and strides out in search of Kiki deLane. 

Bel casts her eyes about the room in search of her pants but she can’t find them. If Hector finds them, he'll know they're hers but then, in order to say anything to her he'd have to _say_ something. He's a flawed but Hector is still a good man, kind whenever possible and polite to a fault. He will say nothing if he finds them, leave them tucked away in one of her desk drawers perhaps, and never speak of it as long as they both shall live. The very idea of it makes her laugh a little.

She supposes she'll just have to keep calm and carry on. She sighs. A producer producing the news without knickers on may be unlikely but it's hardly impossible. Nothing's impossible this evening, Bel is finding. She thinks the world might be rather better that way.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Yuletide treat for [sophiahelix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix)! I can't wait to hear what you think and I really hope you like it it as much as I liked writing it. 
> 
> Beta'd at the last minute by the amazing "To Be Revealed Later" to whom I am forever grateful.


End file.
